


common misconception

by bloodrunsred



Series: just a little bit broken [8]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Bad Parenting, Beth PoV, Child Neglect, Fucked Up, Gentle Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Grandpa Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Gross, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Incest, Lying Rick Sanchez, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pedophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sacrifice, Sad Ending, Underage Rape/Non-con, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Wine, wine analogies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-12 07:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18006386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodrunsred/pseuds/bloodrunsred
Summary: Her dad was hurting her son. He was hurting him, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him if she tried.*Beth sees something she shouldn’t have, and has a decision to make.





	common misconception

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t really like the ending but that’s an issue for tomorrow.
> 
> click [HERE](https://xbloodrunsredx.tumblr.com/) for my tumblr!

It was a common misconception that Beth Smith was a good parent.

She seemed it, to other moms and the school - even to her own family, she could put up a convincing enough front that they barely noticed the wine missing from the fridge until she was too drunk to care. Her life was perfect, with a stable job, a loving husband and two kids that were never truly in trouble. It was perfect, and lovely, and good, and so, so boring and _normal_ that she wanted to rip her hair out.

Wake up.

Cook.

Go to work.

Come home.

Cook.

Clean.

Sleep.

Her life after her Dad could be summed up in one word.

_Unextraordinary._

It was fine, of course; she had a lot more than other people had, and it didn't even matter that she had to give up her dreams and settle because it wasn't like it was  _bad_. Settling was normal. Human. And even if dwelling on it made her hands shake and clench around her wine glass, didn't make it an awful thing. It didn't.

It made her human but, after Dad, that seemed more and more like a bad thing.

*

_"L-look, Beth, baby," Daddy said, pointing at a big, ugly alien, "we're the aliens to him, see?"_

_"But we're human!" She was offended, pouting at the fact that the creature could possibly see her the way she saw it - him._

_"Maybe," Daddy smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners, "not to the rest of the universe. We're aliens, and thats better than being a - a dumb, old human, right?"_

_She smiled wide enough to show her missing teeth, happy with his explanation. "Right!"_

*

Then her Dad came back and things fell into place like they hadn't ever before, her soul fixed like a jigsaw puzzle only he had the pieces to. She hadn't known what to do; when she was little, he always swung her onto his hip, holding her hand when she asked but things were different now. She was older and he didn't seem too inclined to touch her at all, so she let it be.

He was fine with touching Morty, though, ruffling his hair and pulling him into friendly hugs while she watched from the sidelines. She was happy for Morty, she really was. She knew personally how much Rick's friendship, respect,  _love_ , was worth and she wanted that for him. She could only hope he didn't leave again, creating an emptiness in her son that she couldn’t fix.

Then he started taking Morty on  _adventures_ , which was something that had always been a Daddy and Beth thing. She guessed that the adventures were rougher than the ones she went on, because Morty always came home a little bruised and a little tired, and neither of them wanted to tell her what had happened when she asked.

That was fine. She trusted her Dad ~~somewhat~~ , and she trusted that Morty was too anxious and stupid (she was too much like her father, wow) to keep his mouth shut about anything too bad.

So she kept her mouth shut and her nose out of their business, even as Morty stayed up later and later, his sleeves getting longer and longer like they were covering something.

It was too early to be feeling so apprehensive but her life as Rick's daughter, Summer and Morty's mother, and Jerry's wife had taught her to value her gut feeling. Her gut was telling her something was wrong, coiling and tightening uncomfortably as nausea took over. Her migraine wasn't helping much either, hammering her brain with unrelenting force.

She called in sick to work, because her headache was getting worse and her wine didn't help with it - not that she stopped trying, of course. She wouldn't admit that she was curious as to what could happen during the day at her household; it had been so long since she had taken any time off, for herself or otherwise. Maybe that was the reason she was feeling sick, she mused as Jerry kissed her on the head before leaving to go golfing.

When did life get so messy? She supposed it was fun, thrilling even, and a lot of things got better with Rick coming back, but it was still a mess that she had to help clean up. She heard Summer downstairs, bemoaning the lack of breakfast, and a  _BOOM_ from the garage that she assumed Rick (and therefore Morty) had something to do with. She curled up on her pillow, feeling the cold press of last night's bottle against her side, digging into her ribs.

She slept.

It was hours later that she woke up, feeling decidedly more refreshed than before, even though the tension in her stomach remained. At least her headache was gone, leaving her free to take comfort in the quiet. She would have loved to go do something great, or different, but spending her time doing something other than cleaning or cooking or working would be a good start.

The T.V. blared, and she found herself cleaning anyway. The actions were thoughtles, mechanical, and left her at the mercy of her own mind. 

She wiped down the benchtop.  _I wonder if Jerry's cheating. He can't love golf that much, right?_

She cleaned the dishes, scalding water up to her elbows.  _Is Morty even in school right now?_

She put the dishes away, stacking them precariously on top of one another.  _Is Dad still here?_

The dishes slipped and shattered over the floor. Well, at least she hadn't done the floors yet. She tried to avoid the glass as best she could, but her bare feet caught on some shards on her way to fetch the broom and vacuum cleaner. She pulled them out later, blood welling to the surface and stinging in the air-conditioned air. She ignored the pain and continued cleaning, brushing the glass into the bin and wiping up the blood as it smeared on the floor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She spent the rest of the afternoon reading trashy magazines and inspirational books.

The books truly weren't that inspirational -  _Wowww, you had a kid too young and somehow managed to get rich off of Youtube, great job -_ and the magazines were just plain bad, but it was fun. It was fun to make fun of these people she didn't really know without worrying Jerry would peer over her shoulder and send her the most disappointed you-just-kicked-me look, or that an alien would appear out of thin air to abduct her.

It was normal but it wasn't her normal, which was as close to 'new' as she'd ever get.

Summer got home before Morty.

Beth asked her to get dinner. She expected an argument, and prepared herself to yell when Summer opened her mouth but something about Beth's uncombed hair and baggy eyes must have struck her, because she swallowed whatever she was going to say with a grimace.

"Where's your brother, Sweetie?" It was asked out of formality only. If Morty wasn't home, he was with Rick. Hell, even when he was home he was with Rick; the two were inseperable to Beth's joy and, not that she'd ever say it out loud, slight concern. Was it good for a teenage boy to only spend tim with one close relative? All her parenting books said no, but Beth guessed that really didn't apply.

Summer was apparently clued in on the question, and only scoffed before strolling into the kitchen. Beth rolled her eyes, out of Summer's sight, and flicked the T.V. off mute. Inane chatter filled the slightly awkward silence, the only sound between the two.

It almost made Beth want to connect with her kids, turn off the barriers and fillers and just talk to them. Before the thought could fully cement, resentment and utter indifference bubbled over, reminding her why she didn't need to. She couldn't baby them. This was better for them - look at her, she turned out perfect, didn't she - and for her because the effort was never going to be reciprocated.

Not by Summer, at least. Morty was always a little needier, taking after Jerry. She blamed her husband, and regretted every moment she gave into Jerry's parenting style and let him take over with her son.

Hopefully Rick would help him grow out of that as well.

Just as she fully settled into her seat, hunger rearing it’s ugly head again and hopeful thoughts pushed out of mind, crashes sounded from the garage. Her shelves, probably, pushed over by an alien, or monster, or just out of anger. 

Rick. And Morty.

Her phone pinged from the coffee table and she leaned forward, swiping over the screen with her thumb to open it. 

 

_**Sorry Beth. Won't be home tonight. Staying with my friend Taddy. Don't check the bank balance. Love you <3** _

 

She sighed, leaving him on read as she kicked up her feet, grimacing slightly as the skin stretched around her pin-prick wounds. A girl on her show had found out that her boyfriend had been cheating on her with her sister. Beth laughed a little, at her hysteria - how could someone not notice something like that? She changed the channel as Morty came in, looking a little worse for the wear.

Rick trailed along behind him, a small smile tugging at his lips like he'd won something. 

She hoped he had; it always made him more agreeable, and Jerry being out would be an added bonus and incentive for him to be a little nicer. Maybe he would fix the dishwasher, so she didn't have to wash them by hand. Maybe they could do something together, some Dad and Beth time while the kids were off doing whatever it was they did.

Morty sat next to her and Rick sat on his other side, arm slung comfortably over the back of the couch. Beth grabbed her bottle from the side of the couch, passing it to her father. Morty sunk into the couch cushions, wrapping his arms around his middle and staring blankly at the T.V., like he wasn't seeing anything at all. Rick looked at her, rasing one half his brow at her in something she thought could have been concern.

"You okay, Sweetie?" He asked after he took a deep sip, Morty glancing at him briefly as soon as he spoke. "You look - you look like crap. No offence."

Beth laughed, fake and high pitched like she did a lot of the time with her Dad before ducking her gaze. "I- yeah. I'm fine. I'm just sick and Jerry's staying at a friend's house tonight which was a bit sudden."

Rick perked up, like she knew he would, before bursting into laughter. "Friend? Jerry? S-sorry, Sweetie, I think I got the wrong dimension!" He slapped Morty on the back. Morty winced. Beth found herself laughing along as well, more real this time. The laughing died out but Rick soon perked up again, eyeing Morty deviously like he didn't know she was watching him out the corner of her eye.

Maybe he didn't, he seemed hyperfocused on whatever he was concocting. She shook her head, amused.

"Say, Sweetie," Dad said, putting on his best smile for her. She was on edge immediately. "Does that mean you'll have an early night, tonight?"

Beth chewed on her lip. She did want to spend some time with her Dad, but she had already said she was sick... And an early night did seem like a good idea...

"Got plans, Dad?" She heard a knowing smirk in her voice that she didn't feel on her lips, fishing for information before she made a decision.

He chuckled, deep and throaty, and she found herself locking eyes with Morty for what felt like an eternity before he dropped her gaze to look at her father. "You could say I'm doing stuff," she felt like there was an inside joke she wasn't privy to and she was a bit miffed to be left out, "Biggg plans tonight."

"Oh," she said eloquently, "well, I'll just go to bed early, then."

Rick stood up quickly, almost bouncing with what Beth could only assume was pure glee. "Alright." He said, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat. "I need t-to - to go talk to Summer, okay? I'll be right back, I just-" He ran off without finishing his sentence, which had Beth sighing into her empty glass. She was glad he was happy, but she couldn't help but feel a bit hurt that it was propelled by her being sick and going to bed.

She wished he acted like he did when she got sick as a little girl; tucking her into bed and making sure she was comfortable. She knew it wasn't realistic now - she was a grown woman, for God's sake! - but she still wanted some empathy, if only a cool hand to her head.

"S-sure you don't want to stay up and watch a movie?" Morty finally spoke up, his voice a near whisper like he was afraid of someone overhearing him - like he was telling a secret. Beth was used to the dramatics from Summer, of course, but she wasn't ready for Morty to start with secret-telling or overexaggeration.

"Yes, Morty." She said, the day's wine making her tongue a bit sharper than she meant it to be. "Just - just stay out of Grandpa's way unless he needs your help tonight, alright? He seems excited." 

She didn't stick around to hear Morty's answer, grabbing her plate and the nearly empty bottle of wine from the cushion next to Morty before heading upstairs to her room. Summer ran into her on her way up the stairs. She appeared to be in a rush to go somewhere, a dark purple bag slung over her shoulder with things nearly falling out of it. Beth stumbled, barely able to stay upright with both her hands full.

"Summer!" She said, glaring slightly even though she knew it wouldn't cow her daughter at all. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Ugh," Summer said, hands suspiciously phone-free and flying to fix her hair instead, "I'm staying with Tammy and Birdperson tonight, they're having a  _massive_ party."

"Oh," Beth said again, her brain not working quite right. "Is-"

" _Yes,_  Grandpa Rick's taking me," she rolled her eyes, grabbing a pear and some water from the fridge, "I'll be back sometime tomorrow. Gotta go!"

She rushed back up the stairs, nearly knocking Beth down again in her haste. Beth heard the familiar soft  _thwap_ of a portal opening and closing and shook her head to herself.  _Teenagers..._

She passed Rick in the hallway, offering him a sweet smile before locking herself in her room. She wondered what the smile on his face meant, and hoped that whatever he was planning would wait until she had slept some more before destroying something.

She could dream.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She didn't sleep for long. As it turned out, she had slept way too much and was not nearly tired enough to sleep the whole night, even with a belly full of warm wine and cold food. She turned on her lamp next to her bedside table, rummaging under her bed for her wine box. She pulled it out, her mouth dropping to a frown when she saw the contents - or lack thereof.

It was empty.

Thinking back, it wasn't hard to realise that she had been so tired, so overworked, so busy that she had just forgotten to replace it. It was fine; she had another whole box downstairs, waiting with her name on it. It would be warm because she hadn't thought to put any in the fridge before rushing to bed, but it would be something at least. And, if she did go downstairs, she would be able to write  _get wine_ on the shpping list on the fridge.

Mind made up, she swung her feet over the bedframe, the cool air hitting every exposed part of her body. She tugged her slippers on and slipped a dressing gown on over her singlet top, opening her door as quietly as she could, trying her best not to disturb Rick or Morty. Her clock blinked  _3:05_ in an obnoxious green colour, reminding her of a traffic light.

 _Go now!_ It said, and she listened.

Creeping down the stairs, she held her breath. Trying to remember the last time she had been up when no-one else had been was difficult - Jerry was a stupidly clingy sleeper, and she had always been too tired to go for a midnight wander. It was exciting, just another little thing outside her norm and the little box she had confined herself to. She skipped the creaky stair, the slippers muffling the tiny noises she made.

It made her think of Summer and all the times her daughter had probably snuck out, and how good it must have felt. Like a bird from a cage, she could do whatever she wanted and no-one would know. She slipped into the kitchen, pulling the box of white wine from a lower cupboard, and scribbling on the shopping list in script she was sure would be indecipherable in the morning.

Happy with herself and her little late-night-slash-early-morning exercise, she made her way to the stairs. The T.V. glowed, mute and eerie in the darkness - she had forgotten that she hadn't turned it off. She looked up the stairs and back at the lounge room. Jerry probably spent a lot of money that they didn't have on his sleepover, and the electricity was large enough as is. 

She set the box gently on the first stair, turning back so she could say she at least tried to cut down on electricity. She found the remote between the couch cushions, along with a few shiny coins that were decidedly not human. The T.V. went black, and she turned back to head up, back to her room, when a noise from the garage caught her attention.

Intrigued, she padded over to the door, finding it only slightly ajar. 

She heard her Dad, whispering into the quiet air. It wasn't unusual, he usually talked himself into a working frenzy during the night unless he was reminded to take care of himself and get some sleep.

_"-can't scream - not now, shhhh, don't cry, shhhh, quiet, quiet - do it in the lounge room next, right? No screaming, babe-"_

Well, that was weird. She rolled her eyes - her father's eccentric ways never failed to surprise her. Beth opened her mouth, ready to tell her Dad to go to bed when another voice joined the mix.

Morty?

_“R-rick, please-“_

She should have known that Dad would keep Morty up all night with whatever he was working on. Nevermind that it was a school night, nevermind that the school had been blowing up her phone (they forced her to give up her number after the incident of Morty never turning up to school) with 'worried' messages.

_Morty's been falling asleep in classes._

_Morty's grades have been dropping._

_Morty was absent today._

She was sick of the problems she was forced to deal with on top of everything else - Jerry tried to be demanding and authorative to prove he had some balls, and it never worked because no-one in the family respected him the way they respected Beth.

Convinced that her wine wasn't getting any warmer, she pressed her eye against the slit of the door. She couldn't help herself - she was curious by nature and her father was extraordinary. She could always appreciate anything he did.

She felt like a spy and it was exciting; her heart racing until, suddenly, it dropped, low in her belly and the nausea that had plagued her all day was back with a firey vengeance. No.  _No._ Nononononono-

That was- 

They were-

No.

That wasn't her Dad, it couldn't be, that couldn't be her son, that couldn't be them and those couldn't be tears dripping onto her floor.

She was sure if she hadn't put her wine box down it would have smashed all over her floor, sticky liquid clinging to her slippers as she watched whatever this was unfold. She couldn't look away - like train wreck her eyes couldn't be convinced to pull themselves away. She stumbled back, back into the wall and she thought of everything she had seen the last few days. Weeks.  _Months._

She felt like the stupid, hysterical blonde on the T.V. only hours ago, hands fisted in her hair and her brain screaming  _"How could this have happened? How couldn’t I have seen this?"_

She didn't care if they heard her, she didn't care about anything as she flew up the stairs, box forgotten on the steps as she slammed the door of her bedroom, locking it, and running to her ensuite.

Holy fuck.

Holy shit.

That was her  _baby._ Her youngest, the one that still asked if he could have ice-cream for breakfast and forgot to brush his teeth when Jerry said yes.

Her head was spinning, the facts piling up and telling her the what they had to mean, pointing out things she'd rather not know and, for the first time she could remember, she hated that she was smart. She hated that she wasn't stupid, because a stupid person would know what to do. They would know who to call, what to say, who to blame, because all Beth could remember was the time her Daddy called her princess and made her eggs in the morning.

She shut it out. She shut it all out, every motherly instinct, every logical thought, every part of her that was inclined to  _care_ and locked it in a box she'd open on her deathbed as she repented to a God she didn't believe in.

She didn’t care anymore. She didn’t - let Rick have him, let him be someone else’s problem, let someone else deal with the fallout because she was done.

_Let Morty be the reason Rick didn’t leave._

She was a terrible mother. She should be better but she was Rick’s daughter first and she didn’t want him to leave, not again. Wasn’t it one of her self-care books that said ‘compromise is necessary in any household’?

She was compromising. She was being an adult. That was what adults did, but she felt like a little girl who had done something wrong, or sneaked something she had no business having.

Morty’s glassy eyes invaded her vision, and she ran to the sink to throw up in it.

Her baby was hurting and she couldn’t save him, shecouldn’tcouldn’tcouldn’tcouldn’t-

Wouldn't.

She wouldn't save him because it wasn't her place to - she didn't know what they had been doing, what had been going on. Maybe Morty liked it. Maybe that wasn't the reason he had been crying, tears sliding over the baby fat of his cheeks. Maybe it wasn't the reason he had bruises on his neck, or arms, or anywhere else. Maybe that wasn't even Morty, and just a - a robot version of her son. Maybe that wasn't even her real father, just an alien sent to screw with her head.

She didn't  _know_ and she wouldn't risk her father leaving over twenty seconds of horror that she wasn't smart enough to understand. She was smart, her ego was big enough that she could admit that, but she wasn't a genius (as much as she loathed that fact). There was probably somehing else to it.

She threw up again and sunk to her knees, burrowing her head in her knees.

She didn't need to care, she needed to be a good mom, she needed this to be a good household - she needed to look out for everyone and keep her family from falling apart. Morty would be worse off if everything went to shit, she was sure of it. He would be, of course he would be. That's how the story went, right? The trial was painful, the therapy was painful, and no-one got better in the end. More people just got involved.

Rick wouldn't even stay to watch the disaster - he's disappear, and maybe he'd take Morty with him. If she kept her mouth shut, and didn't care, and went along with it everything would be fine. Morty would be fine because her Dad wasn't a monster; he was so gentle with her when she was little, like she'd break, and he had to be the same with Morty. If only a little.

This was a problem for someone else to solve. She was too sober, too sick, too tired, too much Rick's daughter.

She wanted something to drink, she wanted Jerry to be the one who saw it so he could make the decision. She would get mad at him but, fuck, at least he'd be the one making it.

She pulled herself up, white-knuckled on the counter of the sink. She looked in the mirror and saw Rick looking back at her. She shook her head and the image vanished, leaving her looking at herself. Pale. Tired. 

"I don't care," she told herself, jabbing a finger at her own reflection, "grow up."

She thought of the marks that would show up on Morty tomorrow and threw up again.

She leaned over the toilet, chest heaving, and chuckled. She laughed, ad laughed, and laughed until she cried. Extraordinary was overrated. Everything was overrated, and she couldn't wait for things to be normal again.

She spent hours leaning against the toilet, the smell of her own vomit putrid and heavy in the air. It was familiar and she could almost pretend this was a normal night of getting drunk and sick.

She slept.

 

* * *

 

 

She heard her alarm go off in her room, loud and shrill. It was irritating and made her headache - that, suspiciously, had nothing to do with alcohol - ten time worse. She stood up slowly, feeling dizzy and dehydrated and achy in all her joints.

She remembered last night and promptly pushed it out of her mind. She had long perfected her poker face and now was the time to show it. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t a wimp. She handled problems like she handled her liquor: well with a tiny bit of vomiting if there was a lot of it.

She turned off her alarm before it woke the whole household (well, Just Rick and Morty), and got herself ready.

She showered, washing away the mascara under her eyes and the grease from her hair, and scrubbed her whole body until it was raw.

She wrapped her hair in a towel, slipping on her uniform and doing her makeup with shaky hands.

Once that was done, she took her hair out of the towel and brushed it out, blow drying it until she could start curling. The curling iron was hot, searing the skin of her scalp when she held it too close for too long. She looked at herself with a critical eye, fixing her jewellery while she took deep breaths.

Now...

Now, breakfast. She only had to make it for three, so she could get away with eggs and toast. That was simple. Easy. 

She made her way downstairs, tripping over the box she had left in her early morning rush. She picked it up mechanically, holding it under her arm as she walked, stiff, into the kitchen. She pulled a bottle out and put it in the fridge when she pulled out the eggs, making sure she’d be able to take some in a water bottle to work, later.

Alright.

Easy done.

Rick and Morty were up early, sitting at the table by the time she got around to serving them their plates. The eggs were a bit runny, but still good, she hoped.

”Sleep well?” Dad asked, staring at her and, she felt, right through her. He was using the tone she heard all the time. The ‘I already know the answer I just want to embarrass you’ tone.

He used it on Jerry, he used it on Morty, he used it on Summer - but she hadn’t heard it in a long time. She was embarrassed, just out of instinct, and she was ashamed. Ashamed that she had caught them, that she hadn’t told her dad.

”Yes,” she said, staring at her eggs and not paying attention to the way Morty was perched gingerly on his seat, wearing winter pyjamas even though it was summer.

She looked up at Dad and noticed his expression first.

He looked disappointed. Angry. Unsettled, like she had done something wrong and made him upset. She had to swallow the ‘sorry’ that her mind came up with, and looked at Morty.

He didn’t look good, smudges under his eyes and hair plastered to his head from a shower. Rick was wet too, she noticed, and tried not to think about it. He was tense and scared and Beth took a bite of her breakfast. 

Not dealing with it.

He probably didn’t know she knew. He wasn’t smart like that, not able to read situations well and judge what people knew and how they knew it. Oh well, she supposed. If he came to her, then she’d do something.

Not her problem. Not until someone made it hers instead of just her stumbling across it.

Beth was great at make believe, she was great at not caring and she was great at hurting people. She could handle this and, like everything that ever happened to her, it would hurt less over time.

Rick stood first, tugging Morty by the elbow to put their plates in the sink. 

“I’ll drive Morty to school,” Dad said. Morty probably wouldn’t be at school. He would be on an adventure and Beth wouldn’t have to think about what that adventure would entail. 

The garage door slammed, and she was left alone. She stood up, staring blankly at a hole in the wall as she poured wine into a sports bottle. 

She had to leave for work. She had to go to work, and come home, and cook dinner, and sleep. Normal. Good. 

Life was normal.

Life was normal and good and she didn’t have to think as she went through the motions. 

Life was perfect.

It was, because if it wasn’t it was someone else’s problem.

Not hers.

At least she had never kid herself into thinking she was anything less than a cruel, heartless bitch, because that would make this moment even harder. 

It felt like there were waves washing up against her brain, loud and soothing, and distracting. She didn’t think, leaving the house. She didn’t think, driving, obeying the lights without having to pay attention to anything. She didn’t think, performing surgery. 

The horse died.

That was fine, she thought, wiping away angry tears that appeared for no reason. Things died, she didn’t have to be so emotional about it, so hurt over her capabilities or failures. She didn't have to be the best, as much as she wished she was.

She couldn’t save them all. 

She failed sometimes and that was  _human._

She was only human.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> and she knew all along,,,,,
> 
> dun dun dunnnnn
> 
> please leave a lovely lil comment and kudos for me to wake up to!


End file.
